


Obligatory Sex Scene

by ButterflyGhost



Series: Fifty Shades of Ray [2]
Category: due South
Genre: Crack, Humour, M/M, OT3, characters aware of fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/pseuds/ButterflyGhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Fraser and the Rays discover that they're in fanfic, and everyone wants to watch them have sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Obligatory Sex Scene

**Author's Note:**

> Very silly fic. Hope it's actually funny, and not just daft, but it did make me giggle.

 

 

Ray Kowalski stared at his partner, gaping in horror.

 

 

“These ‘fangirls’ want us to do _what?”_

 

 

“Well,” Fraser cleared his throat and tugged his collar. “Technically speaking, they are not fangirls – that is – there are occasional fanboys as well.”

 

 

“Great,” Ray Vecchio interjected. “There are guys watching too. That makes me feel so much better.”

 

 

“Oh God, who the hell let _him_ in?” Kowalski scowled at Vecchio. “Like this isn’t freaky enough.”

 

 

Vecchio rolled his eyes. “Okay, look, Benny, I know you two are the popular pairing, so how about I just wait outside while you do Kowalski?”

 

 

“Oh, don’t leave on my behalf,” Kowalski sneered. Vecchio ignored him.

 

 

“I know how these fanpeople think. Then when you've finished up with Kowalski I'll come in and do you. Then can we stop talking about this? It’s disgusting.”

 

 

“Fuck off,” Kowalski snapped. “You’re not doing Fraser.”

 

 

“Doesn’t he get a say in it?”

 

 

“Not so much as one would think,” Fraser said, regretfully. “I do frequently find myself in the most peculiar situations, with no idea as to how I got there.”

 

 

“Like what?” Kowalski narrowed his eyes.

 

 

“Like... oh, dear. I don’t want to talk about it.” Fraser blushed. “I’m sure you find yourself in compromising situations too...”

 

 

Kowalski looked away. “Just so long as they don't want me to do the Style Pig.”

 

 

“Yeah, like I'd want you.”

 

 

“Ray... Ray? Oh dear.”

 

 

“‘Oh dear,’ what?”

 

 

Vecchio sighed wearily. “That means something in Canadian, doesn't it?”

 

 

“I'm afraid,” Fraser said, “there is a sub genre called Ray/Ray.”

 

 

“No!”

 

 

“Uhm,” Vechio blushed and didn’t look at Kowalski. “That explains a lot, actually...”

 

 

“We are not talking about that! It was dark! I’d been drinking. It never happened.”

 

 

“What do you mean it never happened? It happens every other week!”

 

 

“The correct collective noun for fan people,” Fraser rushed into an explanation, hoping the digression would curtail the escalating argument, “is ‘fen’, apparently, which is a non-gendered noun, modelled on the irregular plural of…”

 

 

“Benny?”

 

 

“Yes, Ray?”

 

 

“Stop it.”

 

 

“Yeah. What he said.” Kowalski covered his face with his hands. “So what you’re saying is, these witches…”

 

 

“’Fen.’”

 

 

 

“These crazy ladies want us to have sex? Right where they can _see_ us?”

 

 

 

“Yes.” Fraser coughed, and tugged his ear. All his nervous ticks were coming out tonight. Any minute now he was going to crack his neck. Yup – there he went. Crick. Followed by an eyebrow rub. “Apparently,” he continued in his best ‘professorial’ voice, “some kind of sexual congress occurs in a disproportionate amount of fannish works.”

 

 

“Yeah.” Vecchio muttered. “That really _does_ explain a lot.”

 

 

“Like what?” Kowalski edged away, closer to Fraser, looking at Vecchio like he might jump him any moment.

 

 

“Like,” Vecchio shrugged. “Statistically don’t you think it’s weird that everybody at the Two Seven is bonking like bunnies? I mean, no wonder the paperwork never gets done, what with everyone fucking in the supply closet, or the john.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Kowalski flushed. “Lots goes on in that closet.”

 

 

“And, remember last week, with Huey and Dewey? I asked ’em later what the hell they thought they were doing, and you know – they were just totally confused. Told me that this voice told them to… you know. Do it in the interview room while the rest of the Precinct watched through the mirror.”

 

 

“And did they?” Fraser sounded surprised.

 

 

“Yeah,” Kowalski glanced at Vecchio, a look of reluctant agreement. “We were all watching.”

 

 

“That seems very… unprofessional,” Fraser huffed. “On all sides.”

 

 

“We couldn’t help it, Fraser.” Kowalski blushed. “There was this –”

 

 

“Voice?” Fraser cocked his head to one side, looking interested, rather than freaked out.

 

 

“Yeah, a voice. Telling us what to do. You know, to watch ’em, and, urgh... Okay. I’m not saying what we did in the observation room. But it was a voice, yeah.”

 

 

“You heard it too? Oh, thank God.” Vecchio closed his eyes. “I thought I was going mad. Everyone in the room was getting off. Again.”

 

 

“I wouldn’t worry,” Fraser said. “That will just be the author.” He frowned. “I am sure your experience in the observation room was embarrassing, but you really don’t want to know some of the things she asks me to do.”

 

 

Kowalski looked at Fraser, and narrowed his gaze.

 

 

“What does she make you do, Fraser?”

 

 

“Yeah, Benny.” Vecchio found himself automatically licking his lips. “Tell us.”

 

 

“Uhm… well, there’s a lot of what they call ‘hurt comfort’ involved. She seems to enjoy a trope wherein I have a secret life visiting... well clubs. And she likes tying me up and... Oh dear. Well, sometimes one or both of you are there. Or... you remember Mark Smithauer?”

 

 

“The hockey player?” Kowalski sounded impressed. “Seriously?”

 

 

“Don’t get too excited,” Vecchio sneered. “Guy’s a jerk.”

 

 

“Yes. Be that as it may.” Fraser coughed. “Sometimes, of course, it’s Eric. Or sometimes, I wake up and discover that I am not in fact a Mountie, but instead a prostitute. And well... actually, the author has a fairly vivid imagination, if perhaps a one track mind. But,” Fraser frowned. “I’m sure we’ve had variants of this conversation before. Surely you remember the time when you and I both, when we three, when we... when we....”

 

 

“Okay, stop it.” Kowalski’s voice cracked a little. “So maybe I think I remember some Wild Monkey Sex, but I’m still not sold on this idea that we’re just characters in stories. I _think_ I’m real.” He sounded unconvinced, but squared his chin defiantly.

 

 

“Well,” Vecchio mused, and smoothed a hand over his bald head. “I dunno if _I_ always feel real. Sometimes I feel like I’m... I dunno. Different people. It would make sense if I was inconsistently written. One minute I’m a homophobe crooked cop, turning into my Pop, the next I’m a secret hero with a heart of gold who just loves taking it up the ass and sucking cock.”

 

 

Kowalski looked at Vecchio, his jaw dropping in shock. “That kinda thing happens to you too? I mean, not just you and me and those times that didn’t happen. ’Cause sometimes I’m the king of cool, master of the dance floor, and other times I’m like the king of – what do they call it – ‘angst.’”

 

 

“‘Wangst,’” Vecchio coughed into his fist so Benny wouldn’t hear.

 

 

“But the whole butt sex thing? That happens to you guys too? It’s not just me spreading it all around Chicago? Wow.” Kowalski shook his head. “And there I was just thinking I’m a slut.”

 

 

“No, Ray – Ray. Neither of you are. Neither am I.” Fraser sighed. “Well, unless the author demands it, of course. It’s just the way we are written.”

 

 

“So, why are we even bothering to have this conversation?” Kowalski asked. “It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it.”

 

 

“Well, I have considered pre-emptive measures...”

 

 

“How can you pre-empt crazy writers? How do you know one of them isn’t writing this?”

 

 

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence as the trio pondered Kowalski’s last question.

 

 

“I think this is us speaking,” Fraser said, carefully. “At least, I will proceed on that assumption, because I really don’t want to have a psychotic break. At least, not in this particular manuscript.”

 

 

“You get those too, Benny?” Vecchio shuddered. “I hate going crazy. Why would the writer do that to us?”

 

 

“Apparently it is one of the more popular memes in the hurt/comfort subgenre. It proves that we are popular. The writers only hurt the ones they love. For example, Ray here,” he gestured at Kowalski, “suffers greatly in these scripts, as do you. Whereas you tend to suffer from PTSD, flashbacks and survivor’s guilt after Vegas, with the odd psychotic break thrown in for variety, Ray here is frequently subjected to bouts of clinical depression, alcohol addiction and low self-esteem following the collapse of his marriage.”

 

 

“Stella,” Kowalski moaned, and covered his eyes. “Oh, Stella.”

 

 

“I see what you mean.” Vecchio scratched his head. “Writer pulls that crap on me as well, sometimes.”

 

 

“Yeah, well, that’s not fair,” Kowalski muttered, taking a swig from a bottle of whisky that had just appeared in his hand. “Why’s the writer got to make me a drunk? I’m crazy too, you know. There’s more to me than just an insecure alchy. I can do crazy as well as you guys.”

 

 

“Gimme that,” Vecchio grabbed the bottle from Kowalski, and took his own gulp. “You can do crazy, I can do booze. Hang on...” He stared at the bottle and frowned. “I don’t drink. My father was an alcoholic, I don’t like this stuff. Why am I drinking it?”

 

 

“My point is made,” Fraser sighed, removing the bottle from Vecchio’s fingers and putting it out of his reach. “Low self esteem, drug problems, I’m afraid. For both of you it would appear. At this point I am supposed to reassure you of your worth through vigorous acts of – I think the term is ‘butt sex.’”

 

 

“Yeah, but,” Vecchio’s voice squeaked. “The writer is watching.”

 

 

Fraser glanced at the walls, and frowned, trying to figure out which one was the fourth. It didn’t help that the author hadn’t bothered to set the scene. Where were they supposed to be? A bar? A bedroom? A cabin in the Yukon?

 

 

“I suppose she _is_ watching,” he agreed, and folded his arms. “You know,” he addressed the invisible author, in slightly snippy tones. “If you want to watch us cavort, you could at the very least give us a bed upon which to frolic.”

 

 

“Holy crap.” Vecchio’s eyes boggled as a massive four poster appeared out of nowhere. “That’s some bed.” He crossed over and sat at the bottom end and bounced on the mattress. “Think we can get her to send room service?”

 

 

“Oh.” Fraser looked surprised, as the scene was suddenly set. They appeared to be in a very well appointed hotel bedroom. “Well, I imagine room service is probably an option.”

 

 

“Hey, Kowalski...” Vecchio leered. “What do you think? Wanna reassure me of my manly charms?”

 

 

“Ah.” Fraser’s shoulders slumped a little, in what appeared to be disappointment. “Seems the author wants Ray/Ray action. I’ll just... uhm... leave.”

 

 

“No! Stay Benny!”

 

 

“Yeah, what he said. Don’t leave, Fraser,” Kowalski said, tugging him towards the bed. “Maybe I want some of that, what’s it called, you know when they do a threesome?”

 

 

“OT3,” Fraser supplied helpfully.

 

 

“Okay. ’Cause seems like the author got me drunk, so I might as well enjoy it.”

 

 

“It would be immoral for me to take advantage of you while you’re inebriated – oh.” Fraser took a step back, and staggered. “Oh dear. I do believe she has decided to impair my self control through the judicious application of illegal substances.”

 

 

“That mean you’re high?”

 

 

“Uhm...” Fraser giggled. “Yes. Usually when I feel this way one of the authors has slipped me some ecstasy.”

 

 

“So.” Kowalski nodded thoughtfully. “We’re drunk, and Fraser’s high. This could be awesome.”

 

 

“Could be. Wow. You know, if we get all this out of the way, then maybe we won’t have to do it again.” Vecchio laid back and smirked, closing his eyes. “You know, if we just go crazy and have all the sex now, then the author’s happy and maybe she’ll stop torturing us?”

 

 

“You know that’ll never work. She’ll just think of something else next week. You just want to fuck,” Kowalski muttered.

 

 

“Oh dear,” Fraser said. “I think she’s getting to us.”

 

 

“You too? That’s what I like to hear.” Vecchio opened his eyes, and blinked. “Wow. Benny, your clothes vanished.”

 

 

Fraser looked down his naked torso, then across at his Rays, now side by side on the bed. His tongue slid out between his lips, and his suddenly buoyant erection twitched.

 

 

“Your clothes vanished too,” he pointed out, taking a step toward the bed.

 

 

The Rays looked at each other. “Wow, she’s fast,” said Vecchio.

 

 

“Wow, you’re hairy,” said Kowalski, trailing his fingers down Vecchio’s chest.

 

 

“Ray, Ray?”

 

 

“Yeah, Fraser?

 

 

“Benny?

 

 

“Is there room on that bed for me?”

 

 

“Always.”

 

 

“Good. Because this is the point at which the author says ‘then they done sex.’”

 

 

“Is she gonna watch?”

 

 

Fraser turned to what he imagined was the fourth wall. “No,” he said. “Go away,” he told the author. “We want some privacy.”

 

 

The author sighed, and left them to it. Only one thing left to write.

 

 

_"Then they done sex."_

 

 

**The end. (Or is it...?)**

 


End file.
